And Then There Were None
by TaxiCabtoNowhereland
Summary: Taking place just before Reichenbach, What would happen if a zombie apocalypse broke out before the fall could take place? Even with the biggest brains in the quickly decreasing population, can Sherlock protect his friends from violence, cannibals, and a whole lot of undead ready to attack? Rated M for Language and violence
1. Ask not for whom the bell tolls

**Author Notes:** Where the hell are all the zombie AU's?! Either way, I hope you enjoy the roller coaster of emotions.

**Extra Note:** I call the undead "sick". The words "zombies, undead, walkers, and dead" are little played to death. This series also takes place before Reichenbach so there is no Mary or anything in Season 3

**Warning:** *Shouts from the rooftops* THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY! I can not stress this enough. Angst up to your ears, Character death as far as the eye can see, Swearing, cannibalism, attempted rape, violence, undead monsters, Sadness, some happiness (But who are we kidding really?), Rated M for violence, character death, and swearing.

**Characters Involved:** Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson,Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Phillip Anderson, Molly Hooper, Anthea, DI Dimmock, and some minor/major OCs to act as allies and enemies

**Disclaimer:** This awesome cast of characters does not belong to me in any way shape or form. They go to their respected creators. Yadda yadda yadda Sherlock isn't mine yadda yadda yadda. These quotes/Lyrics used as chapter titles and the like do not belong to me either. I don't own anything.

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Prologue: Ask not for whom the bell tolls

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Molly was the last one inside. She tumbled into the room crashing directly into Donovan. Sherlock ran past them toward the still open doorway. "Close them." he said.

Lestrade was there first, tossing himself against the thick doors and slamming them shut with a heavy rattle. John leveraged himself against them just as the sick masses on the other side attacked. He readjusted his feet quickly trying to stop the creaking doors from giving way. His body shook with every strike against the other side. The sick acted as one unstoppable wall of death against the door.

Lestrade grunted as his feet slide over the slick carpet. "I can't hold it." He pushed harder. But what were two men against the assault of twenty?

Donovan's eyes darted around. She ran for a nearby desk. It was thick and solid probably enough to hold them. If not, then enough to buy them all time. And they were seriously running out of time.

Sherlock was two steps ahead of her, already grabbing another desk form the other side of the room. Molly dragged the other side of Donovan's desk and the two pushed it against the door. The four of them pushed for dear life as they waited for Anderson and Sherlock to bring the other desk along. The desk slide into place next to the other and the six held on tight. The desk held together against the pummeling. Everyone took a step back waiting for any sign of a breach. Groans and moans continued from the other side as strong fists beat against the doors. After several minutes of silent agony, the infected stopped, believing their meal was gone.

John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He sink to the ground in the middle of the room. "Fuck." he said holding himself as he tried to regain his composure.

The adrenaline still pumped through everyone's veins but as the seconds turned to minutes, the situation finally dawned on them.

Sherlock looked around at the smashed and beaten computers. In all the adrenaline, he hadn't noticed where they'd been running. He cursed himself for letting it pass by without his observation. They were in an open plan office. The discarded coffee pot and overturned desks told him that much. They tried to ignore the scent wafting through the air from the floors and windows. The familiar scent of London had been consumed by the stifling smell of decay. Sherlock began to look around. Passing over the bodies (unmoving much to his relief), he found a clipboard with the debris. "Johnson Brother's Attorney." he read aloud. He looked around at the others.

Molly shook in her blood spattered lab coat. Anderson held the shaking woman. Lestrade looked into the next office searching for something, anything out of the normal.

John looked out the window. "How could this happen?" he said to the streets below. Sherlock looked out after him. Below them, the sick and infected masses moved mindlessly. Sherlock had just been asking himself that fateful question and for once, he had no idea.


	2. It tolls for thee

**Summary: **John has startling news and the world may never be the same again. No warnings.

**Author Notes: **Chapter One! Yeah! Long journey ahead of us! I thought i might as well post the first chapter along with the prologue. There should be a new one every other week, if not every week. Hope you enjoy the story.

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Chapter 1: It tolls for thee

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_**Days Earlier**_

John all but burst into the flat dancing around as he tried to juggle the groceries and his coat. "Sherlock?" He looked over. The consulting detective was in his armchair and apparently on his laptop. John sighed. It didn't matter how many times he changed the password, Sherlock always seemed to get it eventually. John set the groceries on the counter. "Have you seen the news?"

"No." Sherlock said tapping away on the keyboard. The bread fell off the counter as john set everything down. Sherlock quickly scanned him wondering why he was in such a rush. He sighed, it had been so peaceful in the silent flat. But, despite the noise, he was happy to have his blogger home.

"Why not?" John yelled from the kitchen.

"It's mediocre trivia used to brainwash the masses into believing they actually have a grasp on what is going on in the world."

Sherlock jumped slightly as John fell into the room two large book bags in his hands. He slid into the television gracelessly and flipped it on. Sherlock shook out his black curls. "Honestly John, the news-"

"Shush! look at this" John pointed at the screen where a woman in a gaudy red suit stood on the street. The name Sandra Rivers came and went over the screen as she adjusted her microphone and waited for her cue. John turned up the volume as she began to speak.

"I'm reporting live from Brighton, one of the only places left unaffected."

"Unaffected?" Sherlock said.

John shushed him again the woman continued. "All over, a strange new epidemic has spread throughout England. This contagion began several days ago in Liverpool with mild symptoms and spread like wildfire through the city in less than an hour. This new disease has left many of the residence of Liverpool in, what baffled scientist are calling 'a state of hyper aggression.' Recent reports indict that the disease has spread through Leeds and Bristol as well and shows no sign of stopping."

Sherlock leaned forward, his attention piqued. "When exactly did this begin?" he asked, paying close attention to the woman's words.

John didn't look up from the television. "Two days ago-"

"And you tell me now?"

"It was just a few cases yesterday. It's starting to get bad, isn't it?" John said.

Sherlock turned from the television to the window looking out. "What are the symptoms?" Sherlock asked looking outside.

"Paling or clammy skin, bloodshot eyes, extremely high and low body temperature fluctuations, I saw a report that some of the first victims had massive headaches too." John continued to shoot off symptoms as Sherlock stood. He stepped over the furniture in his way and looked out the window.

"John."

John looked up at the sound of his name. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Sherlock stepped over the coffee table to the kitchen reaching into their drawers. He took one of the two bags John had brought into the room. "Start packing. Grab only the essentials."

John watched the woman on television. "It hasn't reached London yet." He said. "I got these from the store a few minutes ago just in case things got too bad. It looks okay outside, a bit quiet but okay. We should be fine for now." John said listening to the woman continue to ramble about a vaccine.

Sherlock tossed John his bag and continued to fill his. He placed his bag by the door and pulled on his shoes. "Go."

John blinked getting to his feet. He walked down the hallway grabbing handfuls of his clothes. He stopped by the window. He'd never seen Sherlock's feathers so ruffled. What could be out there now? He looked out listening. At first he didn't understand, but, like a ton of bricks, it hit him. He dashed back over to the dresser and putting out his clothes stuffing them into his bag.

There was no one outside.

They lived in one of the busiest streets in London and not a soul was outside.

John fumbled with his shoelaces as Sherlock pulled his bag over his shoulder. "Hurry up." he said pulling open the door. John's cell phone chimed and he flipped it over. Sherlock looked over his shoulder. "Who is it?"

John didn't answer him. He snapped open the phone. "Greg?" He called into the phone.

Greg's voice came out in panicked puffs. "John! Thank God! Someone answered!" several screamed followed and shots rang out as John listened, stunned. A scramble later, Greg was back. "John, get out of town! These things are everywhere!" Another scream followed by another shot.

John clenched the phone. "What's happening? We saw on the news-"

"THEY'RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!" John recognized the voice as Anderson.

"Sally! Grab that rifle behind you!" Greg yelled and several more screams followed. "Get to Buckingham, we'll meet you there" Greg shouted over the chaos and the line went dead.

John stared at the phone in shock. Sherlock tugged him down the hall. Racing down the stairs, they passed Mrs. Hudson's door. John pounded on the door. "Mrs. Hudson!" The door below them opened and Mrs. Hudson stepped in swaying slightly.

"Boys?" she said. Sherlock caught her as she stumbled.

"What's going on? Are you hurt?" Sherlock asked. "How is it outside?"

Mrs. Hudson looked back toward the door meekly. "It's terrible. They've all gone mad outside. One of them down the street even bit me!" She held up a bruised hand, an angry swelling bite mark standing out against her pale skin.

Sherlock glared at the mark turning to John. "Get her things. We're leaving. We'll get Lestrade and get out of the city."

Mrs. Hudson handed John the keys and he rushed into her apartment. Sherlock investigated the mark on her hand. It was a hard bite, straight through the skin, blood had pooled in the bit itself and the skin around it was flushed but it didn't look like it would be a problem other than the pain. "Sherlock?" he looked up into her worried face. "Is your brother alright dear?"

He hadn't even thought of that. Was his mother alright too? How was his father? "I'll phone them soon"

"You'll do it now."

"Mrs. Hudson, we have to get out of the city and John-"

"You can talk and walk, young man." She said holding herself up. "Call now. I'll help get my things." He watched her climb the stairs to her flat and Sherlock, with a sigh, pulled out his phone.

He dialed Mycroft's number. No answer.

He dialed again. Still no answer.

Panic coursed through his chest and he dialed again.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice filtered in and out over the phone. Sherlock actually sighed in relief.

"Mycroft, are you-"

"GET OUT OF THE CITY NOW!" Mycroft shouted into the phone. Sherlock actually jumped. He could count on one hand the amount of times Mycroft had raised his voice to anyone, let alone him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine" a revolver rang out in the background. "I was in Australia when this started. Where are you now?"

"Baker Street. We're leaving after we get Mrs. Hudson's things." Another three shot and a scream answered him from Mycroft's side.

"Call me when you've gotten out of London. I have to go. Anthea! DON'T TOUCH HIM!" The line cut off and Sherlock dropped his phone. John raced out into the hallway with Mrs. Hudson right behind him and shook Sherlock back to reality. He stiffened a bit before grabbing his phone and his bag. "We need to get out of the city as quickly as possible." He said and they walked into the London streets.


	3. All around the mulberry bush

**Summary: **Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson struggle to survive in a new confusing world. Sherlock comes across some very important information about the disease spreading throughout the world. Mrs. Hudson isn't feeling very well. No warnings.

**Author Note:** I've decided to put out a new chapter every Friday! I hope you enjoy this one.

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Chapter 2: All around the Mulberry Bush

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The smell was the first thing to hit them. A smell like aged copper pennies clung violently to the air and they gagged on their way out. Mrs. Hudson covered her nose with her collar. "It didn't smell like that a moment ago." She said looking around.

The streets were silently. For one of the busiest streets in London, there wasn't anyone outside. Sherlock hugged the wall looking over the side slowly. There was no one around the corner of the building. There was however a lot of cars in the street. Overturned cares blocked the road and shattered glasses sprinkled over every surface. Sherlock and the others had to be mindful not to make any noise by stepping on it.

A new wave of smell hit them as they crossed the street. Sherlock's nose scrunched. "John." He said barely above a whisper.

"I know." John answered back. He must have recognized it as well.

They traveled south down Baker Street weaving their way cautiously through cars and debris. A thick, heavy moaning trickled in from further up. People hung around the intersection. Bodies and what were probably bodies (if the piles of open festering meat said anything) covered the ground. The copper smell only intensified as they moved closer: the smell of blood.

Sherlock spotted several people in the intersection, hurt and bleeding out. They stumbled mindlessly through the streets dull eyed and hands outstretched.

"Sherlock?" John said. He eyed the hurt civilians. One woman with bloodied hair was clenching her chest and stumbling toward them. Sherlock ignored him analyzing the crowd. There were several men and a few woman out in the open but who knew how many were out of view. He looks around grabbing a large rock from the chipping sidewalk and tossed it with as much strength as he could muster. The rock flew into a bakery window nearby and more glass shattered to accompany the rest on the roads.

"Sherlock, what are you-" Sherlock covered john's mouth before he could finish the sentence. The bloody woman turned slowly to the sound. Her jaw slacked and her legs moved independently toward the sound in a stumbling walk. Everyone people in the intersection were walking toward the sound now. Their arms falling limp to their sides as they looked for something John couldn't see. More stumbled into view dragging broken bodies to the sound. Mrs. Hudson glanced away from the more gruesome ones dragging or rolling themselves forward. The civilians gathered by the window stumbling over one another as they looked for the source of the sound.

Sherlock grabbed Mrs. Hudson's hand. "Inside, now." He whispered leading them into a building. John was right behind him. He closed the door quietly and stopped. Looking out the shattered windows, he tried to wrap his head around the people wandering around outside. They should have been at the hospital, right? They must be mental. He slide a desk into place blocking the base of the door just in case. It didn't do so much good with the shattered windows but, any bit of security helped against the crazy people outside.

John turned around. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were already at the far end of the hallway. He ran after them passing bloodied sheets. A moment of pause and he could make out the lines and figure of a person underneath. He ran faster. John met the two on the stairs as they ventured higher up into the building. He climbed to the third floor as quietly as possible before looking around. Pushing several things in front of the doors, he stopped to breath. A thought kept gnawing at the back of his head. "Sherlock, we need to get to Greg before-"

"John, shut up."

John glared at the detective as he barricade the door. "Didn't you see what was out there? We-"

Sherlock glared back at him. "John, I said shut-" He began. The doors behind them flew open and a man rushed at them tackling Sherlock to the ground. The two fell in a mass of flailing limbs. "Shoot him!" Sherlock yelled. He blocked the man's massive jaw from taking a bite out of his neck.

Two shots rang out as John took the man out without a second thought. The man's body lurched as his head blew like a watermelon. The rest of him collapsed on top of Sherlock. Sherlock quickly rolled the man over and scooted a safe distance away.

Mrs. Hudson gripped the blunt chair leg she'd found lying around. "Nice shot."

"Mrs. Hudson please." Sherlock said pulling a pair of gloves from his bag and began examining what was left of the man. He looked the wounds looking for any abnormalities. He straightened up as he looked over the man's blood coagulation.

John stared over his shoulder. "Sherlock?"

"This can't be right." Sherlock checked again. He checked the man's dirty skin. "How is this possible?" he said more to himself than anyone else. He triple checked the results. "This man has been dead for over a week."

Silence followed in the space. Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "But that's not possible, he was-"

"Alive?" Sherlock said. He turned the man over look at his back. "Apparently not. He's been dead for more than a week."

John came to sit beside him. "Then how was he moving?" His doctorial interest had been peaked. He inspected the damage to the man's body. Lifting his leg, he looked over the torn open meat of his calf. "He shouldn't have been able to move either." He said, inspecting the muscles closely. "The hamstring in his left leg is completely severed and the tendons in his right are hanging by thread." Sherlock watched on as John looked for answers. John continued. "The pain should have been too excruciating. He shouldn't have been able to walk let alone run at us."

Sherlock snapped off his glove. "And yet he did."

John looked over the body again and again. "This isn't possible." Sherlock looked out the window at the masses of bodies stumbling around the building. He frowned a bit. He looked over the man's rotting flesh. "He couldn't have been dead."

"How else would he have had enough time to decay to such a state?"

"He couldn't have been dead. It's impossible for him to get up and attack someone."

"Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, John." Sherlock said. "This man should have been dead. His very existence a moment ago is impossible. But he was moving. So, what does that tell us?" John stared at him shaking his head. Sherlock turned back to the window. "The dead can't walk. _That_ is impossible. But what about the living?"

"So the living dead is plausible?!" John said.

Sherlock snorted. "The living dead? No. You've been watching too many movies John. But a disease that could fabricate electrical impulse though the brain could make them walk even after being deceased. It could explain the dulled pain receptors too."

Mrs. Hudson nudged the body with her foot. "But he's been dead for a week right?"

Sherlock shook out his hair. "Yes, that would be impossible unless his brain was kept from decaying." He looked the body over again. "So, whatever is happening, it can also effect those who were already dead like our friend here." He looked into the window again. "The people below however appear to be relatively alive or at least were before this happened. Their bodies haven't decomposed as drastically." Sherlock sighed. "We could exclude him as an abnormality. But even then, a virus that you into nothing more than a walking hungry piece of meat?" he scratched his chin lost in his own world. "It's possible, regardless of how improbable it is." He looked over to John. John didn't seem convinced. "Fine." Sherlock cutting his eyes at him. "You're a doctor." He motioned to the body. "Explain."

John remained silent. In all his years of medicine, he'd never seen anything like this.

"Just as I thought." Sherlock looked around the room. He grabbed a chair crackling it in half against the wall. "We've got a new virus tearing through Europe and possible other continents. We're in the middle of one of the most densely populated areas in England with no way out and no weapons other than a gun. " He grabbed two of the long leg chairs. "We'll need to defend ourselves." He paced back to the window, his mind super charge. "The sick have-" he railed out the window looking around. "Poor motor control, no pain receptors, undisturbed strength, poor sight but impeccable hearing."

John looked over. "How do you know about the hearing?"

"The rock, they were attracted to the noise." Sherlock picked up his bag and tossed John his. "That and the fact that I just spoke out the window. Several looked up and are heading this way now. With them and the ones who already followed us inside, they'll be strong enough to overthrow that poor barricade we've created." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "So I suggest we leave now."

John tighter the straps on his bag. "Yeah, now would be a good time." The moans outside the door increase.

They headed upward, Mrs. Hudson right on their heels. They took it slowly, finding ways around the sick with rocks and other loud noises. Mrs. Hudson tossed a rock into a cabinet with a thick whack. The three sick blocking their path moved slowly out of the way. She followed after Sherlock and John on their way out. Running, her vision blurred. She turned a corner and fall over. "Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock was at her side in a matter of seconds.

Mrs. Hudson coughed. "I'm fine, dearie. We should keep going."

He nodded looking her over for a minute before they reached the fire escape and made it to the next building. Mrs. Hudson stumbled over coughing hoarsely as she jumped to the other side. They hopped from building to building trying to make their way to Buckingham Palace in the distance.


	4. The monkey chased the weasel

**Summary:** Sherlock is anxious, John is worried, Mrs. Hudson is still sick and time keeps marching on.

**Author's Note:** this is a bit of a slower chapter, there will be a few of those every now and then. But don't worry, we have some action and angst coming up! Thank you for reading so far and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Chapter 3: The Monkey Chased the Weasel

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Sherlock stared hatefully at the setting sun. They'd been lucky enough to get to higher ground before the sky blackened. From the ear piercing screams below, some hadn't been so fortunate. He looked at Buckingham just over the buildings. He calculated their distance from Buckingham. They'd be there in a day's time if they moved faster.

Mrs. Hudson coughed, hard. Sherlock passed a weary glance at her.

He turned back to the window. Looking below, he wondered he should do. There were too many variables. What if Buckingham was under siege? What if Lestrade was already dead? What if he didn't meet them there? What if he brought Anderson?

Sherlock's face scrunched at the thought. He sighed. Regardless, a familiar face was better than a rotting one with bits of flesh stuck between its teeth.

Mrs. Hudson coughed again, this one harder and more forced. John patted her back gently. He pulled two cans of beans from his bag. He's grabbed everything from the kitchen before they'd left 221b. He opened a can handing it to Mrs. Hudson.

She smiled at him weakly and patted his hand. Eating from her can, she held out one to Sherlock. "Sherlock, why don't you eat something?"

Sherlock shook his head. He slid down the wall by the window and closed his eyes. "I'm not hungry."

Mrs. Hudson frown putting the food in front of him. "Eat something." she said.

Sherlock sighed taking the can. The beans were cold and overpowering in his dry mouth. He swallowed a few and set the can aside again. Mrs. Hudson mumbled something about him being 'thin as a rail; before pushing the can back at him. He pushed it away and she pushed it toward him again.

John smiled at the familiar sight. It was nice to see some things remain the same even when everything else around them changed so drastically. His mind wandered off to the others. "I'm worried about Greg." he mumbled to himself.

"Who, oh right. He's fine." Sherlock said. He set down next to Mrs. Hudson with a little more force. She sighed, turning away.

John pulled out his phone. Oddly enough, it still worked. But no one knew how long it would work for. Maybe if he called, Lestrade would-

"Don't." Sherlock said. "The sick are attracted to noise. If his cellphone goes off while he's near one." Sherlock let the sentence hand over them like a giant raincloud. Mrs. Hudson picked the can of beans up and put it in Sherlock's hands. He sighed. He looked up to find John still staring at his phone. "He's smarter than the average person, John. He can take care of himself."

"Anderson is with him."

Sherlock looked over so quickly John was surprised he didn't get whiplash. Sherlock looked back down at his beans. "We're all doomed."

John chuckled despite his fear. Mrs. Hudson giggled as well. The short sweet sound ending with another cough. She coughed harder and John scooted closer pressing his hand into her forehead. "You feel warm."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him, pushing his hand away. "I'm fine, dearie." she said hoarsely.

John offered her some water. IN the moonlight, he could see how her face had brightened dramatically with deep red hues tainting her pale cheeks and forehead. She appeared to be sweating as well. "Let me check you over." John said. Mrs. Hudson nodded. There really was no point in arguing with John when he was in 'Doctor Mode'. He checked her face first. "Do you feel itchy? Is anything aching?"

"My hip aches a bit and I have a headache coming on." she said softly.

"You might have a fever." John trailed off pressing his hand into her forehead again.

Mrs. Hudson groaned a bit. "Perfect timing." she mumbled.

John adjusted her head giving her his bag for a pillow. He looked over to Sherlock. He was looking out the window again. "If you keep looking out the window like that, you'll go mental."

"Actually," he looked back at John and then at the shadow masses down below. "I believe this is the only thing keeping me sane."

John said nothing just staring at the detective by the window. Sherlock could feel it. "You should get some sleep." he said when the staring became too much.

John nodded. "Wake me up in an hour or two." he said and curled in on himself.

Sherlock listened for his breathing as John drifted off quickly. He looked over to his companions. They actually looked peaceful.

He looked back down into the shadowy world below. He listened to the never ending moans of the sick stumbling around. He wished he could sleep as well but with the idea that at any moment, the doors could break down. Sick could pour in with yellowed teeth and broken nails. They could tear and snap and break through them in seconds. He shook away his thought. With a soft sigh, he rested his head against the windowsill and waited for dawn.


	5. From my rotting body, flowers shall grow

Summary: Nothing but running, heart break peaks over the horizon.

Author's Note: Warning for blood (small amounts though). Here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 4: From my rotting body, flowers shall grow

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Sherlock woke to the sound of screaming. He jumped up. "What happened?"

John didn't look up from the Mrs. Hudson. "Her fever spiked. She won't stop screaming." Mrs. Hudson's eyes bunched hard. She flailed violently in John's arms. John looked positively terrified as Sherlock took her from him.

The wooden barricade over the front doors began to creak. The sounds of walking outside caught their attention. Sherlock stiffened. "Mrs. Hudson." she wouldn't stop screaming. He pulled back before his own ears could be damaged. "MRS. HUDSON!"

The screaming cut almost painfully like the sound had been pulled from her throat. Mrs. Hudson laid completely still. John scooted closer ready to check for a pulse.

Her body when rigid as she opened a tired eye. "Sherlock?" her voice was weak and fragile not the usually wind chime sound they both knew.

The boards creaked again. "We have to go." John said tossing them their bags. Sherlock took Mrs. Hudson's for her, helping her stand on wobbly legs.

A massive bang, almost like a dead body being chucked against the door, shook the entire room. The door hinges screamed under the pressure of the sick on the other end. Mrs. Hudson ran for a desk pushing it against the doorways with some help. The door creaked open despite their efforts.

Sherlock pushed harder. He turned to john. "Get her to the fire escape."

John had the window tossed open before he'd finished the sentence. He looked around before Mrs. Hudson stepped out.

Sherlock watched them go. He waited until John was outside before turning back to the door. The wood of the door began to splinter and Sherlock looked down the hallway. There had to be at least twenty of them, all of them pushing against the door and each other. Mutilated jaws snapped at him through the splintered openings and dead eyes burned into his core.

"Sherlock?" john whisper-yelled.

Sherlock cursed under his breathed, bolted for the door, and vaulted outside in the space of ten seconds. He slammed the window shut just as the sick managed to get inside. He wouldn't have been happy to say it was nice to breathe fresh air again but it wasn't. The air wasn't fresh anymore.

In direct sunlight, they tried to ignore the decomposing bodies around them. Bodies dotted the streets, their disfigured corpses twisted into nightmarish forms. Blood sprayed like a Pollock painting and the pavements pooled with liquids and unnamed meats. They stopped at the corner and Sherlock looked over. "Their motor skills seem impaired but their grip is powerful." he said more to himself as he watched three sick in the road. They were...having lunch. He turned to the others. "Don't let them get a hold of you." he said.

John nodded. Mrs. Hudson's eyes drifted in and out but she nodded slowly. Sherlock stared at her longer.

John checked his clip. "Sherlock, I don't like being out in the open like this." he reminded. Out here, they might as well ring the dinner bell. Or breakfast, whichever.

Sherlock looked up. He searched the nearby buildings for movements. "We can't go into any of these buildings. If there's one, there's probably more."

John nodded. "Then all we can do is go through." he said.

Sherlock sighed. This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea he'd ever had. "Are you ready?"

John snapped his clip back in. "Locked and loaded."

Sherlock chuckled. "And you call me dramatic." They sprinted down the infected streets. Granted, their footsteps were heavy but their charge helped them move faster than the masses. Sherlock estimated their time to Buckingham. "We need to move faster." he said.

John wasn't listening to him. He was staring at the mangled corpses in the streets. Sick sat on the pavement pulling handfuls of meat out of the open cadavers. Snaps and squishes surrounded them as the sick took in mouthfuls, scarlet blood dripping from their fingers and teeth. He gagged.

"Don't look."

John didn't need to be told twice.

They turned the next corner and a wall of sick came into view. The sick turned slowly blank eyes suddenly alert and hands outstretched to grab them. Sherlock railed back pulling the others with him. He grabbed a plank from a nearby building ripping it straight from the wall. "Stop thinking John." Sherlock said. He whacked a sick directly in the head when it came to close. "Just run."

John followed his lead tucking his gun into his waist and grabbing a steel pipe. He brought it down on the closest sick's body. It shuffled back arms swinging at its sides before coming back at him, teeth bared in festering gums. He attacked again. The pipe connect to the sick's head with a sickening crack. Blood splashed and the sick fell. "The head." He stumbled back as a sick reached for his jacket. "Go for the head." The continued to run, killing anything that so much as came into view.

Mrs. Hudson held her own. She swung at a sick grimacing at its head split. Her vision blurred as she moved. Her legs laced with lead and she stumbled. A weird shape stumbled closer to her and she whacked it with all her might. Blood splattered and she continued to beat it. She looked over what was left in its skin. Wounds festered and skin ripped over the slowly decaying body. She peered closer dragging the body out of the crossfire and examined it. Moving its clothes aside, she noticed a bright red patch on its collarbone.

A bite mark.

Her blood ran cold as she looked over her own hand. Her bite mark had gotten worse, the skin around it blackening and breaking. She couldn't feel the pain but the evidence was there. Another sick came over to her and she batted its head off. She looked for another mark. It was on the sick's left calf. She ran to the boys. "Sherlock?" she tried to get his attention.

He beat off a sick turning to her. "Busy!" he yelled smashing another's brains in. Mrs. Hudson shook away her headache and whacked a sick who came to closely.

John looked over as Mrs. Hudson stumbled. "Mrs. Hudson?" He only had a second to think about her before more sick were on him.

The world began spinning around Mrs. Hudson. She hit a wall suddenly underestimating its distance and sank slowly before toppling over.

Sherlock looked over. "Mrs. Hudson?" He batted away a nearby sick and ran to her. He looked her over, checking her temperature before seeing the new state of her wound. She looked at him as her eyes rolled back into her skill. He picked her up quickly and sped off John on his heels. He watched Mrs. Hudson sway in his arms. "You're going to be fine. Don't worry."

Mrs. Hudson tried to speak as her consciousness tuned in and out. Sherlock's assuring words were the last thing she heard before the world spiraled into darkness.


	6. And I am in them and that is eternity

**Summary:** It was only a matter of time. Character death. Angst.

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry for the delay. And i'm sorry for what's about to happen. I didn't want it either but it was bound to happen eventually. i hope you enjoy the chapter anyway. I'm going to cry in the corner now.

* * *

Chapter 5: And I am in them and that is eternity

* * *

Sherlock tried his best to slam the gate shut. He handed Mrs. Hudson to John and peered out into the streets. None of the sick seemed to see them coming back here. An onslaught of flesh craving psychopaths was the last thing they needed right now. He turned back to the others.

John was kneeling next to Mrs. Hudson, looking her over. He pressed his hand into her neck, cheek and face. "She's burning up." he said. He reached into his bag pulling the zipper open to look for his medical supplies. John didn't like this. Mrs. Hudson's breathing was too labored for his comfort zone. Her chest heaved and fell frantically as she struggled to breath.

Her eyes finally opened as John managed to find what he was looking for. "Sherlock?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

John took her hand. He'd thought the wound looked bad when it was red and bleeding. Now, the once red skin was a dying grayish black. The teeth marks stood prominently against the fester skin. Thick pale yellow pus leaked from the abrasion. She jumped when he touched it.

"Sorry." John said.

Mrs. Hudson tried a smile. "It's alright dearie." She closed her eyes as her head lulled to the side. "My head hurts." the words came out jumbled and distorted. John pulled the first needle he could find. "What are you doing?" Mrs. Hudson said.

"I'm giving you antibiotics." he said.

Mrs. Hudson held her hand up to stop him. She gently put the antibiotics down. "I'm sorry. I can't let you do that."

Sherlock grabbed her hand holding it close to his chest. "Why not? You won't get better without them." he said. Mrs. Hudson shook her head. Sherlock glared. "You have to get better." his head snapped over to John. "Give them to her." he said. Mrs. Hudson batted away the medicine. Sherlock took a deep breath. "Why must you be so difficult? You're only getting sicker. We can't just sit here and let you become one of those things."

She smiled at him. "I'm sorry Sherlock." her words were final.

"Mrs. Hudson, you don't have to do this." John said. "We could-"

"I'm old." Mrs. Hudson said. She looked toward the gate they'd escaped through. "I've lived a good long life."

"And you'll live a longer life if you let John help you" Sherlock insisted. He reached for the medicine and she stopped him again.

"One of you boys may need that later. Let's not waste it on little old me." She smiled again giving the bag to john and turning to Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head. "Mrs. Hudson, I can't just let you die." Sherlock held his ground but his voice betrayed him.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head sitting back again. She reached for him. "Don't cry." she said. She wiped a tear Sherlock didn't know had fallen. "No more tears."

She held her hand before she could pull it away. They'd been through so much. "I can't let you do this."

Mrs. Hudson smiled a bit more. "I know," She turned to John. "That's why you're going to with him."

John shook his head. "We can't just-"

Mrs. Hudson took the needle and bottle. "-yes you can." She said. She pulled her bag over and put her food and supplies inside. She zipped the bag shut. "Now take him as far away from here as you can." She told John.

"No." Sherlock said firmly. He'd deny he was shaking if anyone dared to point it out.

Mrs. Hudson wasn't looking at him. She was talking to John. "Take him and run. Find Lestrade and get out of the city. Go to the country." John took the bag and she patted his cheek. "Please be safe."

Sherlock refused to move. He couldn't have if he wanted to. His legs were frozen. "I'm not going anywhere." he protested like a stubborn child.

"Sherlock please, for once, listen to someone else." Mrs. Hudson said.

John watched form the sidelines for a moment. It was a stalemate. Sherlock wouldn't move and Mrs. Hudson was too weak to make him. But he was strong enough. "Sherlock." he said swallowing the thickness in his voice. "We have to go."

Sherlock glared at him. "You may be willing to leave her but I'm not going anywhere. I told her we'd get out of the city and I meant it."

"And you will." she gripped his leg. "Just not with me."

"I can't-" he began.

" .John." she said firmly. She turned to John. "Keep him safe, please. I need you both to be safe." He nodded and pulled Sherlock put by his coat. Sherlock fought the entire way.

His stubbornness died slowly. Sherlock looked to John. "We can't just leave her." He said. Was he the only sane one left in the room?

John went rigid. "And we won't." he said. "Go wait outside."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you-" it clicked in his mind. "No, no, no, no, no, you can't-" Sherlock fought for the right words. "It's Mrs. Hudson." he said.

John pulled his gun. "I know. That's why we have to." he looked at Mrs. Hudson. "DO you want me to do this?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Just make it quick."

Sherlock stared between the two of them and darted from the room. From the hall, Sherlock sat against the wall holding himself. He could do nothing but wait. And then he heard it. A piece of his heart died with her.


	7. Ring around the Rosie

**Summary: **Friends are found. Misery pecks over the horizon.

**Author's Note:** I am so sorry, don't hurt me for a several week late update. As for this chapter, I recently found out crayons could be used at candles after an experience that went horribly, horribly wrong and Dimmock always struck me as a "had a telescope when he was ten' kind of guy. Prepare for heartache in the next chapters. Hope you enjoy this one.

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Chapter 6: Ring around the Rosie

* * *

The silence was excruciating. Sherlock could hear his heart beat. The rapid fire beats drummed against his rib cage painfully as he waited for a sound, any sound. The door creaking open shattered the silence. John stepped out, his face aged a thousand years. Sherlock grimaced as his eye noticed a bit of blood here and there that hadn't been there before. He gagged swallowing the bile that crawled up his throat.

John reached over to him brushing a tear from his cheek. Sherlock stared at the wetness on his hand. He rubbed at his face angrily as he grumbled. Standing curtly, he walked down the hall on numb feet. They walked in silence.

John tossed open the door ready to strike at whatever came into view. Sherlock looked around. They were in an old house. It had been ransacked hours ago if the overturned furniture said anything. They found the kitchen and bathroom quickly and searched for supplies.

Sherlock tossed him a roll of gauze he'd found in the bathroom. "We have to find Lestrade." John nodded. Those were the first words either of them had said in over an hour. John took Sherlock's steel pipe and drove a long pair of scissors he'd found in a bedroom through them. The pipe was thick but he'd managed in a few minutes with the help of some furniture leverage and screws. He looked over the new weapon. It would have to do until they found something more durable.

Sherlock looked around as John worked. The silence was beginning to kill him. He opened his mouth to speak. A scream ran out. "GREG! THERE'S TWO MORE."

John shot up. "Was that Sally?"

Sherlock was already halfway down the stairs. He opened the door and kicked a sick clear over the porch banister. Sherlock waved his arms as Donovan turned his way. Her eyes widened and she grabbed Anderson's arm. They ran toward him around a far corner. As they moved, the sick followed them. Sherlock noticed Dimmock behind him and Lestrade in the rear batting off a sick that got a bit too close for comfort. Sherlock slammed the door after they'd made it inside.

John scrambled for the blinds. He didn't know if the sick could see but it was better safe than sorry. They scrambled down as the dull moans and silhouettes came back. Only after the shadows passed did John realize he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly and looked around.

They all caught up with the situation at once. Lestrade looked over to his left. "Sherlock?" Sherlock blinked as the man pulled him into a hug. He hugged him back stiffly. Lestrade smiled. "I thought you both were dead." he said as he hugged john.

Sherlock looked around. He remembered every face that made it through the Yard or at least the important ones he didn't delete. "You're the only ones who made it?" He knew it was an obvious question with an obvious answer but a small part of him hoped that others had made it.

Dimmock's smile wavered. "There were more of us." was all he said. Silence followed. Lestrade lifted a small flap of the window. "We need to get out of here." he said more to himself than anyone in particular. He talked over his shoulder. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?" he looked out the window. John visibly winced. Sherlock stiffened. In their silence came his answer.

Sherlock looked around. "We need to gather as much supplies as possible." he said. Everyone nodded and scrambled around the house. Sherlock looked through the drawers of a gaudy pink room. He tried to ignore the pink and white teddy bears smothered in red liquids on the bed. He opened a container inside the drawer and found what he was looking for. Tossing it into the bag, he met the others downstairs.

John had found more medical supplies under the cabinets in the bathroom. He'd managed to find some hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of aspirin with the usual band aids. Donovan had found a baseball bat in a boy's room. She didn't recommend going in there, Sherlock understood why. Everyone had found something whether it was bits of food or weapons. Sherlock pulled his container out of his bag. He held out a pack of crayons.

Anderson looked them over. "Crayons? Really? What are you going to do with them? Draw us a mural?"

"No," Sherlock said. "They're for you to use while the grownups talk."

Dimmock stepped in between them. "Alright you two. Now isn't the time."

Donovan looked out the window. The sick were beginning to gather. "We'll need to find higher ground before the sun goes down."

Anderson looked over her shoulder. "And go where?"

Donovan closed the curtain closed again. "Anywhere." she snapped.

John raised his hands. "Alright everyone," They all took a deep breath. John looked into the next room before ushering everyone toward the stairs. "We need to be quiet." he said. "Noise attracts them."

He opened the staircase door and they all filed out one at a time looking into separate rooms. "Clear." John whispered down the hall from the first room. Everyone whispered back. They gathered in the closest room by the fire escape and barricaded themselves in.

Sherlock grabbed the crayons from his bag and lit a single one with a match. Setting them down in the center of the room, the fire collected and he grabbed two more. The wax gathered and the crayons propped themselves up as candles in the center of the floor. Anderson avoided eye contact as they gathered around the crayons (now candles).

No one said a single word as they watched the crayons burn themselves out. Everyone took their positions around the room nodding off against doorways and filing cabinets. John turned on his side toward the flames but sleep wouldn't come. Sherlock yawned by the fire.

John chuckled. "You should get some sleep."

Sherlock nodded. He laid on his side facing John and drifted off. John watched him sleep. It wasn't a peaceful one, his brows were knit and his lips were flattened in a stiff line. He looked around the room. Everyone had fallen asleep in one way or another. Dimmock was the only one awake.

The Inspector caught him staring. A soft smile played on his face. "You look like hell."

John chuckled. "So do you."

Dimmock shrugged. He turned back to the window. John looked into the fire. "You know, if you keep looking at them, it's going to drive you crazy."

Dimmock snorted. "I'm not looking at them." he said. "I've just never seen London so dark." He looked up at the sky. "I never realized how bright the stars were at night. All the city lights and musty air pushed them away."

John looked up and sure enough a cosmic ocean of lights stared down at him.

Dimmock smiled. "Makes you feel small, right?" John nodded. Dimmock looked at him again. "You really do look like shit." He said. "Get some sleep. I'll take the first watch."

John nodded. "Wake me up in an hour." He said. Dimmock stared at the sky without a word. By the time John's head hit the pillow, he was already asleep.


	8. Pocket full of Posies

Summary: Character death. Shit hitting the fan VERY quickly.

Author's Note: Sorry (I'm not sorry).

* * *

Chapter 7: Pocket full of Posies

* * *

"Hurry Up." Sherlock said as he vaulted over the next building. He ran over the roof top hopping to the next. John grunted as he hopped over after him. Everyone was quickly jumped behind him.

John shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked at the sun. They'd been traveling for a day and a half now and they'd barely made any progress getting out of London. He never noticed just how far things were until he wasn't able to hail a taxi.

John looked down into the deep drop to the street. The sick pooled out of every alleyway and stood around every corner. He stared at their staggering forms. The sick never slept and they were always present. Always in the next alleyway ready to grab them. Always moaning down the hallways. Always hungry.

A hand clap on his back shocked John out of his thoughts. He shied away from the roof edge. "Don't." Dimmock said. "They'll drive you crazy, remember."

John looked away. The two hopped to the next roof where everyone was gathered around the edge. Sherlock was staring over it as they waited. He sighed. The jump to the next building was too far even for his long legs. If they fell, they could die or worse live long enough to get eaten.

Sherlock grabbed the ledge lowering himself onto the fire escape as quietly as he could. One by one they all followed him to the bottom and then they were on the ground again. John looked down the alleyway to their left, there was nothing there.

Putting a finger over his lips, Sherlock looked around the side of the building. He motioned them to follow and they moved into the open. Hiding behind trash cans, they snuck like thieves around the sick passing nearby.

Donovan held back a gasp as a sick came too close and brushed against her trash cans. She let out a shaky breath. Donovan looked over the edge after the sick passed out of view. She checked her clip before slamming it back in. "We're pretty naked out here." she mumbled. She was ready to shoot anything that stumbled by if need be.

Sherlock looked around. He opened his mouth to speak. A bloodcurdling scream pierced through the streets. They, and every sick nearby, turned to a couple of woman rushing down the road. Everyone ducked as the sick began to move as one toward the woman. Sherlock looked over the trashcans. He cocked his head, staring hard at the struggling woman. "Molly?" he said. His eyes widened and he leaped over the cans.

Lestrade was behind him with John in tow. Sherlock went against his gut and yelled. "Molly!"

Molly turned. Tired eyes widened when she saw them. Molly tugged the woman along with her. The woman was older, possibly in her mid-forties and screaming bloody murder.

Sherlock reached them first. "Make her stop."

Molly shook the screaming woman. "Mum, you need to stop screaming." But it was no use, she kept screaming as sick poured out of every orifice. Mangled bodies dragged themselves from destroyed cars grunting and snapping their jaws. They crawled out of windows unaware of the glass cutting through their bellies and dragging their intestines behind them. Sherlock pulled Molly over and the screaming woman struggled. She pulled away dragging Molly with her.

Molly grabbed her mother. "Mum! It's Sherlock!"

Her mother stopped. "Sherlock? I-" She screamed as a sick grabbed her from behind by her neck. It bit harshly into her throat and blood poured in steady streams as she continued screaming. She stopped screaming as one sick became two and then three and then they were all on her grabbing for meat. Molly screamed as the blood soaked her lab coat.

Anderson shot a sick near his feet. "We need to go." he yelled over the moaning. They were in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Dimmock grabbed Molly and pulled her toward the rest of them and they ran.

Bullets cut through sick bodies and crumbled in their path. Lestrade dry fired into the crowd. "Fuck, I'm out."

Sally ducked as a sick reached for her. "I'm out too."

John shot another sick fumbling their way. Dimmock caught his eye. "Dimmock, behind you!"

Dimmock turned as the sick grabbed him. Holding him in a vice grip, it gnawed into his arm. Molly jumped back and grabbed his gun. She shot straight through the sick's head. Dimmock pushed the body away. He looked at the bleeding hole in his arm before looking at John.

Snatching his gun from Molly, he pushed her toward John and took off into the crowd. Grabbing a brick, he broke windows and whacked poles. Grabbing a trash can lid, he ran it against the walls as he ran. The sounds echoed and the sick turned his way. He shot everything in his path as he tore up the street.

Lestrade ran over to them. "What is he doing?" he shouted over the moaning.

John grabbed Molly's hand. "Causing a distraction." he pulled them both forward. "Run." They ran to the others and bolted for the nearest deserted building.

John only chanced a look back. Dimmock stood on top of a car. The sick reached and bit for his legs but he wasn't paying attention. He was staring at the sky. Making eyes at the horizon, he raised his gun. John looked away. He pretended he didn't hear the shot when it came.

John pushed the barricade against the door with what little strength he had left. Everyone stood at the ends of the room. Donovan bandaged up Anderson's forehead as he winced at the smallest touch. She continued to apologize as she worked. Lestrade held Molly against his chest. Molly didn't say a word. She didn't move. Lestrade held her anyway.

A single moan floated from the hallway and Molly lost her composure. Burying her face into Lestrade's uniform, she began to cry. Everyone sat in silence listening to her cry.

Sherlock sighed. "Molly." he said.

She didn't answer him. He tried again. "Molly." She shook her head. Sherlock's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Miss Hooper." he snapped.

Everyone's head snapped up as he took a deep breath. "There are sick around. Your crying will attract them. Let's not lose anyone else today."

Anderson saw red. "Listen here you freak-"

"-No you listen." Sherlock snapped again. He stood inches from Anderson. "Unless you want the sick breaking through that barricade. We all need to be quiet until it settles."

John stopped him. "Sherlock, that's a bit harsh."

"A bit?" Donovan said pulling Molly from Lestrade and against her chest. "She's allowed to grieve for a minute."

Sherlock glared mutely before taking a deep breath. His shoulders slumped and he gently took Molly from Donovan. He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Molly," He pulled her closer, gently rubbing her back. "I'm sorry for your loss. No one should have to experience that. But if you don't learn how to keep moving forward, this world is going to kill you." He said firmly.

She stared up at him. "What am I supposed to do? I'm sad. I'm angry. Am I supposed to just forget my mum? Dimmock? Everyone? I saw so many people die."

Sherlock sighed pulling her away. Looking around, he ripped an exposed pipe from the wall. "No don't forget them," he pushed it into her hand "just let your anger out on them."

Molly held the pipe in hand. It was a black pipe and cold to the touch. Her fingers clenched around it.

Sherlock smiled slightly brushing a stray tear from her face. "No more tears." She nodded slowly turning toward the side door. Lestrade and the other looks around the next room and John stopped Sherlock.

He didn't say a word and Sherlock sighed. "She needs to learn now. Crying gets you nowhere. Sentiment is a crutch. She'll die if she holds onto something too hard." Sherlock closed the door softly behind him. "It's the things we love most that kill us."

John stared at his friend as he followed him down the hall. He didn't like where this was going. But in a world where it's kill or be killed, he didn't have much of a choice. John shook the thought from his head catching up to the others. They'd have a long way to go before they made it out of the city.


	9. Ashes, Ashes

**Summary:** Reevaluation and scavenging.

**Author's Note:** This weather man is reporting a shit storm and it's coming your way! No umbrella can save you.

* * *

Chapter 8: Ashes, Ashes

* * *

Donovan woke at dawn the next day. Sweeping dark matting curls behind her ear, she yawned. The feel of the hard floor brought everything back. She wasn't in her bedroom. She snatched up her gun and checked her clip. Empty. She sighed snapping the clip into place. The floorboard nearby whined and she jumped.

"Easy." Sherlock said. He cracked his back. The floors were killer.

Donovan relaxed and they sat in silence. The birds outside chirped happily, almost mocking them. Donovan looked outside. The sun was warm and waking over the horizon. She yawned again. "How long were we asleep?"

Sherlock scratched his scalp. "A day and a half." He looked around the room. Molly and Lestrade were in the corner asleep. Anderson was spread over the floor like a starfish, his mouth wide. Sherlock rubbed his eye. "You woke up thinking it was another day." he said staring at her.

Donovan rolled her eyes. "Let me guess," she said. "My hair told you? Or was it the way I wrinkled my nose."

Sherlock's face held no emotion. He looked down. "John woke up an hour ago and did the same thing."

Donovan looked away, feeling guilty. She looked out the window. The sick lined the street and spilled into the alleyways. "We need to get out of here soon."

Sherlock nodded. He grabbed his bag and Donovan followed his lead. They woke the others. Neither said a word until everyone was awake and aware that it wasn't all a dream.

o.O.O.o

Molly pushed around her food with her fork. It had been more than a week since the outbreak had settles in London. It had been nearly two days since Molly had seen her mother's throat torn out by the monster below on the streets. It had been nearly two days since they'd lost Dimmock. Their faces popped into her head and nausea came in waves.

Lestrade looked over. He sighed and turned to Sherlock. "SO what's the plan?" he asked.

Sherlock looked out the window toward the sick below them. "Before we can go over the plan we need to know what were up against. So everyone needs to tell me everything they knew about the things outside." Sherlock sat back waiting for them to respond. John pulled out his notepad out of habit.

Lestrade thought to himself. "They like to eat people." he offered.

Sherlock sighed. "Thank you for your contribution. Anything else?"

John looked up. "They're dead." he said writing it down. "They're dead people walking around." Sherlock nodded.

Molly looked up. "There blood is black."

Sherlock looked up. He sat up properly. "How do you know that?"

Molly thought back. "When the outbreak start, all the bodies were brought to the morgue. I cut one open for the usual examination." she shivered. "Every internal organs was corroded and diseased with black blood and pus. I took it upon myself to open his head and found that the brain had deteriorated at an alarming rate."

"Would you say the brain was the first thing to go?" Sherlock asked.

Molly thought to herself. "Yes, the frontal lobe most likely."

"That would explain why the headaches were the first symptoms to be reported." Sherlock mumbled to him. His fingers came together under his chin and he laid on his back.

Molly continued. She thought back to her notes. "The disease then spread downward affecting everything in its path. The arteries clogged, the muscle's weakened. But normal science can't be applied to them."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Molly rubbed the back of her neck. "I checked three different bodies and found they all had the same symptoms but the severity differed from person to person. The first two had been reported to have died of natural causes and the last of a heart attack."

"In your examination, did you see any bite marks?" John said.

Molly nodded. "On the first two. The first case, a woman, had been bitten severely on her arm and leg. The second, a man, was only bitten on his hand. The third case was strange though."

Lestrade leaned forward, listening closely. "How?"

"He was the one that reanimated. He grabbed me from behind while I was checking the woman and tried to bite my neck." She rubbed her neck. "But he hadn't been bitten."

Everyone blinked. "What?" Sherlock said.

"He'd died of a heart attack." Molly said. She played with her fingers. "His muscle deterioration shouldn't have allowed him to get up from the table let alone grab me."

John swallowed. "But he got up anyway." He thought back to the sick who'd attacked Sherlock.

Molly nodded. "He nearly broke my arm when I got away."

John wrote down another note. "So extreme bursts of strength."

Sherlock nodded.

Molly gripped her lab coat. "I fought back and hit him in the head with my surgical scissors. The skull by then had been deteriorating to the softness of a marshmallow and he collapsed. I did the same with the other two before leaving and going to find my mother." Her head hung low. "And then you all found us and…" her words trailed off hanging like an angry storm cloud over their heads.

Sherlock took John's notebook looking over the notes. "The only new information we have is the man with the heart attack. He wasn't bitten." Sherlock laid back again. "SO why did he reanimate?"

Molly pulled her knees against their chest. "How did this happen?" she mumbled to herself. "I saw the military shoot a man in the chest over a dozen times and he just kept coming."

Sherlock looked around at the confused and frightened faces. "Does anyone have anything else?"

Anderson looked outside. "People who are shot in the head before they turn don't come back."

They all were quiet for a second. Sherlock spoke first. "Then the infection but travel from person to person through contact through fluid contact."

John nodded. "That would make sense." he scribbled down a note. "Dimmock was scratched and-" John caught himself as the others stiffened.

Sherlock swallowed. "You're right." he said. "Dimmock was scratched. We all have to be careful."

Everyone nodded. Donovan opened her clip. "How many bullets are left? I don't have any."

John looked in his clip. "I have three."

Anderson looked in his. "Two."

Lestrade didn't open his clip. "I'm out."

Donavan sighed. "We need more ammunition. Scavenging might help."

John looks in his med pack. "We could use some medicine too." they had enough to save one or two people but if they got seriously hurt, they'd be in trouble.

Sherlock tightened his shoes. "Their hearing is incredible so noise attracts them. Don't shoot unless you have to." Sherlock looked out the window. "We should travel north. Toward the country." He tightened the straps of his bag. "We can scavenge on the way."

Lestrade was the first one out the room. "We need to find a weapons too. Does anyone know where we could find any?"

"I don't think were far from a gun shop. I pass it in taxis all the time." Anderson said.

"Could you get us there?" Sherlock said. Anderson nodded.

Everyone picked up their bags. They headed out and John caught up with Sherlock. "Do you think we'll find weapons there?" John asked. It was a stretch. Maybe if they'd gotten to the store in the first few days but now? Would there be anything left?

Sherlock shook his head. "No, but ransackers nearby probably didn't get very far." He hopped out of the window and scurried down the fire escape.

They scurried down the next block keeping to the shadows as they made their way to the shop. The sick populated the streets but they moved silently so none looked their way.

Anderson led the way turning down paths. Sherlock was behind him looking for opening to escape just in case. Anderson pointed down a ways and they headed to the shop. The store had been ransacked. The windows were smashed out and scorch marks form an extinguished first eat at the sides and inside of the building. Sherlock looked around the charred bodies of the fallen people. He kicked one to make sure they were dead. The body didn't move. Sherlock made quick work of rifling through its bags.

He pulled one of the guns from the body's bag. Opening the clip, he found it full. The others pillaged the rest of the shop as quietly as they could.

They stood in the center of the shop together looking over what they'd found. "This should keep us going for a while." he said. "Unless we get attacked by a massive pack, we should be okay." Everyone nodded.

Lestrade took to the backdoor. He looked at the car in the back. A woman's body sat in the back. She wasn't moving but Lestrade didn't take any chances. He ran back inside and took the sharpest object he could find. Donovan watched him as he went back into the back and rammed it through her soft skull. She sagged onto the steering wheel. Lestrade pulled the body out and looked into the back. He froze. Three dead children sat in the back. Bite marks covered their bodies and bullet wounds pierced their foreheads. Lestrade gagged. He grabbed what supplies he could find and left quickly.

"I found food and water." he said. Sherlock nodded. He found a pair of scissors. Making a mental note, he reminded himself to add them to Molly's pipe later. He tucked them into his pocket.

A shot rang out in the back and their heads snapped up. John ran inside pushing his body against a door. "They snuck up on me." he said. Moans from the nearby streets caught their attention. Sherlock grabbed a large bar and slid it through the door handle. John pulled away and they ran.

Lestrade collected Anderson and Molly from the next room and they ran. Sick piled out of the shops doors. Sherlock looked around. They were on the street in the open. They needed higher ground quickly. His eyes spotted a tall office building coming nearby. He motioned to the building and they all ran. Sick came from their hiding spots. They grabbed for them. Molly kicked a crawling sick as it grabbed for her leg.

Donovan screamed as a sick's fingers grabbed her hair. She grabbed its hand trying to free its grip. Sherlock ran back to her. He grabbed his scissors and cut her free before batting the sick off. They ran for the building doors. Climbing the stairs two by two to the next floor.

Molly was the last one inside. She tumbled into the room crashing directly into Donovan. Sherlock ran past them toward the still open doorway. "Close them." he said.

Lestrade was there first, tossing himself against the thick doors and slamming them shut with a heavy rattle. John leveraged himself against them just as the sick masses on the other side attacked. He readjusted his feet quickly trying to stop the creaking doors from giving way. His body shook with every strike against the other side. The sick acted as one unstoppable wall of death against the door.

Lestrade grunted as his feet slide over the slick carpet. "I can't hold it." He pushed harder. But what were two men against the assault of twenty?

Donovan's eyes darted around. She ran for a nearby desk. It was thick and solid probably enough to hold them. If not, then enough to buy them all time. And they were seriously running out of time.

Sherlock was two steps ahead of her, already grabbing another desk form the other side of the room. Molly dragged the other side of Donovan's desk and the two pushed it against the door. The four of them pushed for dear life as they waited for Anderson and Sherlock to bring the other desk along. The desk slide into place next to the other and the six held on tight. The desk held together against the pummeling. Everyone took a step back waiting for any sign of a breach. Groans and moans continued from the other side as strong fists beat against the doors. After several minutes of silent agony, the infected stopped, believing their meal was gone.

John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He sink to the ground in the middle of the room. "Fuck." he said holding himself as he tried to regain his composure.

The adrenaline still pumped through everyone's veins but as the seconds turned to minutes, the situation finally dawned on them. Sherlock looked around at the smashed and beaten computers. In all the adrenaline, he hadn't noticed where they'd been running. He cursed himself for letting it pass by without his observation. They were in an open plan office. The discarded coffee pot and overturned desks told him that much. They tried to ignore the scent wafting through the air from the floors and windows. The familiar scent of London had been consumed by the stifling smell of decay. Sherlock began to look around. Passing over the bodies (unmoving much to his relief), he found a clipboard with the debris. "Johnson Brother's Attorney." he read aloud. He looked around at the others.

Molly shook in her blood spattered lab coat. Anderson held the shaking woman. Lestrade looked into the next office searching for something, anything out of the normal.

John looked out the window. "How could this happen?" he said to the streets below.

Sherlock looked out after him. Below them, the sick and infected masses moved mindlessly. "We'll stay here for the night."

Donovan looked around the room. She tugged at her cut hair. "We'll have to secure the doors and sleep in shifts." She looked at the door before shivering.

Lestrade watched her walk into the next room. "We should make sure we're alone."

Everyone nodded and divided into teams of two. After twenty minutes of searching, they all met back in the lobby room. "There was a few in the offices." Lestrade said. John nodded.

"I killed one in the woman's bathroom." Molly said.

"I didn't find any in the board room." Sherlock said checking the door.

They all relaxed a bit. Closing the doors to the other rooms, everyone sat in the middle of the lobby room's floor.

Donovan was the first to speak. "I wonder what the rest of England is like." she said resting her head against the stone wall. She reached up taking a handful of her hair. A large chuck of her hair was gone after Sherlock had cut it. "Thanks by the way." she said. Sherlock nodded. She sighed. "Can I borrow those scissors?" he handed them to her. She took a deep breath. Pulling the rest of her hair in hand, she cut the remaining length off and stared at the mass of curly hair in hand. Everyone stared at her as she finished cutting her hair to a shorter safer length before passing the scissors to Molly. "You might want to cut your hair shorter too." Molly stared at the scissors before taking them and in one swift motion cut off her long brown hair. She barely flinched. Donovan helped her cut it correctly before handing the scissors back to Sherlock. He nodded looking over the two woman. He tucked the scissors away without a word.

"You both look nice with short hair." Anderson offered and Donovan smiled a bit.

Molly touched the pixie cut Donovan had just cut and sighed. "We'll have to wait it out for a few hours." She said looking over the clock behind Sherlock.

Everyone nodded settling in, waiting for the dead below them to pass.


	10. We All Fall Down

**Summary: **We all fall down

**Author's note: **dun dun dun! I nearly forgot today was an update day. Here you go!

* * *

Chapter 9: We All Fall Down

* * *

Sherlock shielded his eyes as he stared into the midday light. The constant obnoxious sound of the hungry below had lowered to a dull hum. Looking out, he saw a few stragglers still prowling the streets. "We should go." Sherlock said.

Everyone nodded following after him down the empty hall. "Alright, we need to get to higher ground." Sherlock mumbled. Everyone listened closely even if he wasn't talking to them. His dazed stared told them he was too far into his mind palace to be talking to them. Sherlock pushed a fallen chair out of the way. "I've been in this building before for a case. The roof should be close enough to jump to the next building."

They climbed up the stairs. A plethora of blood stains covered the walls. They stopped in their tracks at the staircase. Several desks and chairs covered the stairs case as a barricade.

John opened the door to the floor slowly. He looked into the closest conference room. Nothing moved. He looked on the wall for the floor number. "This is the fourth floor." he looked at the wall map. "We can get to the fifth floor from staircase A or B. They're down the halls."

Sherlock stared at the map. "Staircase A is closest." Moving past John, Sherlock walked out first. The halls were silent. Nothing moved in any of the rooms. Nothing they could see at least. Sherlock grabbed the staircase A's door handle. "We'll check here first." He opened the door.

Hungry eyes turned on him.

Sherlock slammed the door. "Move." He said pushing John back. The sound of combined fists shook the door frame. They bolted down the hallway.

Anderson made it to the door first. He skid to a stop in front of it. Grabbing the handle, the door knob refused to turn. "It's stuck." He grunted, trying to force it open.

The glass to the nearest conference room shattered and a sick pounced on him. With a sickening crack, the sick stopped in its track. It sank to its knees and Molly pulled the pipe free. Anderson stared, mouth agape. "Molly?"

Molly swung at the next sick. "Shut up and swing." she said. Ripping off the sick's head from the scissors with her foot. She braced herself as the next threw its body at her.

Anderson stiffened but did as he was told. They fought with whatever they could find. Wide, broken toothed mouth bite for them. Chipped fingernails clawed at them. They fought back with everything they had. Lestrade pistol whipped a sick aiming for his neck. "There's too many."

Donovan kicked another back. "Fuck this." she said. She batted a sick back trying to grab her shirt. Turning her head away from the glass, she brought her gun down on the glass of the staircase window. She looked inside quickly before reaching inside and opening the door. She waved her arm flagging everyone down and they ran for their lived.

Tearing up the stairs, the sounds of the sick never silenced. They crescendoed. John threw open the door to the fifth floor. Several sicks from the fifth floor turned their heads.

"Shit!" He slammed the door.

They climbed higher running floor to floor until they'd reached the very top. "This is the last floor." Lestrade said. A sick grabbed his foot and he kicked the hand away. The sick fell back knocking into several others in the sea of infected coming up the stairs. Lestrade's eyes widened when he saw just how many of them there was. He bolted through the door and slammed it behind him. Molly panted looking at the blood on her lab coat. She sighed handing Sherlock back his pipe.

He didn't take it. "You handle it better."

Molly looked at the pipe smiling.

John looked down the hall to the map. "The only way out is up." he said.

Everyone stared at each other. Donovan looked into the next room. The door behind them beat savagely. She kicked the leg of a desk and the leg sundered. Grabbing the new weapon, she tucked her useless gun away. She turned back to see everyone staring at her. "Well? Are we just going to sit here staring at each other for eternity?" she pushed past them. Sherlock smirked as Molly followed after her quickly.

John looked back at the door. "How long do you think it'll hold?"

"It won't." Sherlock said.

Molly's voice carried form the stairs to the roof. "You guys need to see this."

The boys followed up. "My god." john said, covering his mouth. The city was engulfed in flames. Distant screams carried from the ground. The masses of sick filled every block killing anything they could find.

"It looks like Hell." Anderson said.

Sherlock stared out it not the burning city. "It's worse than hell."

The sound of breaking glass shattered their thoughts and they turned to the doorway. Everyone stiffened as the dark shadows of the hallway clumsily moved closer.

Sherlock's head shot around. He searched for a way down. Paths came to a standstill in his head. He came up with nothing. There was no way out.

The sick attacked in slow motion, mouths open and ready to eat. Sherlock watched the others fight back. John fought back a sick, kicking it off the roof. Sherlock watched the sick fall all the way down. Its head split open like a melon on impact.

"Sherlock?"

He turned to see his army doctor staring at him. Looking out, he watched the people he knew and care for (some of them) fight, completely outnumbered by the endless stream of sick. Sherlock lowered his gun.

John beat a sick with his gun. "Sherlock?" he jumped back as a sick slashed at him.

Lestrade looked over. "What's he doing?"

Sherlock climbed onto a large steel air duct. Molly deflated first. "Is this the only option?"

Sherlock said nothing at first. "It's one of two." he said. He stared at the sick below him.

Molly was the first to join him and John was the last. They all stood higher up. Sick reached for them. The tips of their fingers barely reached the top of the air duct. Sunken eyes glared at their meal just out of reach.

Sherlock looked over the edge at the ground below. The fall would kill them, regardless of how they landed. He chose that over becoming one of the things attacking them.

John watched the detective. He could see the wheels turning in Sherlock's head. Sherlock looked at John and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he found his courage and readied to leap.


	11. The Spark

**Summary****:** Who doesn't love family? They always (usually) come through. Explanations and cliffhangers.

**Author's Notes:** Tee Hee

* * *

Chapter 10: The Spark

* * *

_Sherlock tore his gaze from the edge looking at John. John looked over the edge and Sherlock nodded. Molly pulled Lestrade farther away from the horde and toward the edge. He understood. Sherlock stood closing his eyes. For once, no other thoughts clouded his head as he made his decision. Closing his eyes, he found his courage and readied to leap._

* * *

Sherlock took a deep breath, readying to jump. It was the obvious choice. He's rather die than become a mindless monster hunting for its next innocent prey. He took another deep breathing, squeezed John's hand and leaned forward.

_RING! RING! RING!_

Sherlock paused. Below him the mindless sick masses grabbed for him. He took the call. "Hello-"

"-SHERLOCK HOLMES! DON'T YOU DARE JUMP."

Sherlock ripped his head away from the phone. He listened closer. "Mycroft?"

"Little brother, if you try to jump, those things will be the least of your worries." Mycroft said. Behind him, a distant mechanic sound cut through his words.

Sherlock looked around. He stared off into the distance. A slight smile broke out over his face. "You didn't-"

"Of course I did."

John stared out into the distance, lost to the conversation. He followed Sherlock's eyes. A large object came out over the horizon. "Is that a-" he grinned as a large helicopter came into view. The helicopter was moving toward them. Moving closer, the helicopter came just above them. The others covered their eyes as the wind breezed past them. The helicopter door popped open.

Mycroft looked down at them, eyebrow raised. "A little difficulty and you opt out. I expected more." he said. HE unfurled the ladder to their level.

Sherlock caught it hopping onto the ladder. "Piss off." he said. John helped the others onto the ladder and rolled it up as he came to the top. Mycroft slammed the door with a scowl. Sliding into his seat, he knocked on the cockpit window. "Go Jeffery."

The helicopter flew away and the hordes of the infected fell over the edge trying to defy gravity as they reached for them.

Sherlock took a deep breath sliding deeper into the cabin seat. "You're late."

Mycroft smirked. "You're welcome." he shifted his umbrella in his lap.

Sherlock looked around the large helicopter. It was an expensive looking helicopter with padded siding and furnished seats. He looked over the number of people. Counting everyone in their group, the new additions were Anthea, sitting beside Mycroft and typing on her phone, Mycroft, and Jeffery the pilot. Mycroft himself didn't look at all fazed. He looked like he did every other day before the outbreak.

"It seems the apocalypse hasn't ruffled your manicured feathers."

Mycroft chuckled. "I wouldn't say that."

Lestrade looked out the window. London was in disarray below them. "What the hell is going on?" he said. "How did this even begin? One day, I wake up and the world is fine with the occasional murder and the next there's monsters overloading the streets eating people.

Mycroft sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The disease started in Dublin and when the panic people thought it would be a wonderful idea to boarded planes and boats to escape the virus. They instead worked as rats during the Black Plague and carried it across the world. It spread throughout Britain quickly and was reported to have reached as far as America before communications went out. United Nations has been disbanded seeing as there are no longer any nations to govern and most of the representatives are either missing or dead.

He crossed his legs and continued talking as if he was relaying the weather forecast. "Anarchy is at an all-time high and shows no signs of stopping." He shifted his umbrella again. "Before the Capitol Building in Australia was attacked, the remaining scientist estimated that the dead outnumber the living three to one." He finished coolly and sat back to stare out the window. "So, Hell is a good word for it, Detective Inspector."

Silence fell over them as everyone tried to adjust to the information. Sherlock slid down into his chair. "Three to one…" he mumbled to himself.

John looked behind him at the flaming city. They'd flown far in only a few minutes. The city he'd spent most of his short life in was now a memory, a small reddish dot over a canvas of green grass.

Sherlock pulled on John's sleeve. "Turn around." he grumbled, resting his head on John's shoulder. "It's behind you now." John nodded, turning and making himself comfortable. He heard Lestrade chuckled and looked over. Apparently the two of them were serving as pillows for the time being. Molly whimpered in her sleep and Lestrade readjusted her laying his head against the side paneling.

"We should all rest." Mycroft said. Everyone nodded and leaned on each other for leverage, their tense bodies trying to sleep.

Mycroft looked up over to find Anthea asleep between the curtains, her fingers still twitching as if she were texting. He chuckled to himself before tapping the metal siding of the cockpit. "Stay on course and take us straight to the compound." Mycroft ordered, leaning back in his chair.

Jeffrey nodded, keeping course to the compound. Looking down, he stared into the foliage below them. He groaned as his vision unfocused on the rolling plains. Shaking himself out of the fog, he reached down and uncapped his medicine bottle before swallowing two aspirins. All the excitement must have been getting to him. He was starting to get a headache...


	12. That lit the fire

**Summary: **Murphy's law in effect. Nothing good will come of this.

**Author's Note: **I'd like to begin this apology by saying that you are all wonderful and thank you SO much for the reviews. I'm very sorry I didn't upload on Friday like usual. I'm also very sorry this chapter is short. I can't think of a single thing to move onto. But I'll keep going. I'm currently writing the next chapter and that should be up Friday if nothing bad happens. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Chapter 11: That lit the fire

* * *

Mycroft rested his head against the interior. The others were quiet, they had been for the last few hours. He'd expected the silence. They were actually taking it better than he'd planned. But he hadn't, in all his wisdom, anticipated just how silent it would be. It was starting to get to him. The whole world was silent now, he didn't want to add to the hush. His eyes darted over to Sherlock looked at him.

He nodded sitting up. Everyone turned to Sherlock. He opened his mouth to speak. The plane bucked sharply. Everyone gasped as the helicopter suddenly dropped. John latched onto the railing as his bottom left the seat. The helicopter hitched and caught itself. Second passed as they all waited.

Mycroft looked over to Anthea. Wide eyed and still a bit rattle, she nodded. She moved into the cockpit. The scarlet red curtain billowed as she stepped into the pilot compartment. Mummers could be heard from the front. Anthea stepped back into the room. "Turbulence."

Mycroft stiffened. "Turbulence?" Anthea nodded. He straightened his suit shirt, having abandoned his jacket hours ago. "Can you fly a plane?" he asked. He pulled off his tie.

Anthea nodded slowly. Mycroft turned to Sherlock who nodded. He reached out a hand and silently asked for Molly's pipe. She handed it to him. Sherlock handed it to Mycroft.

John watched as Mycroft peaked into the cockpit. "Sherlock?" he whispered. "What's going on?" everyone listened closely.

"He said there were turbulence."

"So," Anderson said. They watched as Mycroft disappeared into the front. "Airplanes have turbulence."

"Yes, airplanes." Sherlock said. He unclipped his seat belt and John followed after him. "Helicopters don't fly high enough for turbulence. We're definitely not high enough for them."

"But why would he-"

John's question was cut short as the helicopter pitched downward. Everyone felt to the back of the helicopter. Papers and objects flew around them. Anthea reached forward. "Sir?"

She pulled open the curtains. Mycroft came tumbling out. Jeffery was on top of him now as they slid toward the back. His face was placid and his jaundice eyes burned brightly with anger. He clawed at Mycroft's suit and snapped his jaw at the available skin.

Anthea pulled him back. Lestrade held him in place. Jeffrey growled and thrashed. Working against the decline, Anthea pulled herself into the front. The world spun around them as they made a straight dive downward. Jeffrey jumped at Lestrade and Donovan stomped his head into the cabin siding. She fell back as gravity moved against her. Thick brown blood coated the walls but his head didn't cave in.

Anthea reached for the next railing to pull herself into the cockpit. Jeffrey slashed at Lestrade. He pounced for Anthea and went for her throat.

Sherlock yanked hard at Jeffery's coat. He pulled him back. "Hold on!" he screamed. The helicopter door flew open.

Papers whirled around them and John shielded his face from the tornado of wind whirling around them. His feet came out from under him and he slid quickly toward the opening. Molly caught his arm and pulled him to the side.

They all watched as Sherlock fought against the sick that was once Jeffery. Sherlock's hair caught in his face and Jeffrey reached for him clawing anything in sight. Reaching out, SHerlock grabbed the closest railing. He kicked out hitting Jeffery in the base of his chest. Jeffrey fell backward and out the helicopter door. His head hit the side of the helicopter with a sickening crack.

Pulling herself upward, Anthea rolled into the cockpit. She pulled herself into the pilot seat and grabbed the wheel. "The down spin took out the left wing." She pulled anyway.. The helicopter bucked. Everyone slammed into the unforgiving metal.

"Anthea!" Mycroft's voice was taken by the roaring winds of the open door.

Sherlock looked around the helicopter before staring out the open door. He grabbed his bag. Reaching into the front, he caught Anthea's attention. She pulled herself from the seat and gravity didn't the rest as it hurled her into the back.

"Everyone jump!" Sherlock pushed them toward the door. One by one they filed out. John was the last to go. Sherlock grabbed his hand and together they jumped.

John felt nothing at first and then he felt water. It hit him like concrete. Every bone in his body screamed at once. His eyes clamped shut and his mouth opened to scream. He reached for anything to grab, But he felt nothing but bitter ocean water lace through his fingers.

John kicked his feet fighting against the current. He broke through the surface after what felt like an eternity. John forced his body to tread water as he searched for the wreckage of the plane. A thick smoky line in the sky was his only clue. Turning to his left, a blot of land came into his sight. He fought exhaustion as he swam toward land. The waves brought him in, slamming him against the merciless beach.

He gasped as the waves came over his head. Pulling out a sore arm, he dragged his broken body further onto the beach. T%he waved lapped at his feet. John turned his head looking down the beach's end. The last thing he need to see was sicks coming in from the trees. He felt his gun pressed into the side of his jacket. He'd kill himself before let them take him. Straining to hear over the ocean waves, he waited for the groans of the infected.

Nothing came.

No sick and no people people.

John wanted to stand. He tried to pull himself to his feet. He had to find his friends. But the gentle lap of ocean waves and the warm sun on his face dragged him kicking and screaming into unconsciousness.


	13. If it seems too good to be true

**Summary: **Tragic news and a mystery to unfold. No warnings.

**Author Notes: **Well, fancy seeing you guys again. Please don't kill me for not uploading. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 12: If it seems too good to be true

* * *

John drifted into consciousness. Memories of free fall puddled into his mind. He remembered the plane, the turned pilot. It crashed, he could remember that much. John struggled through his paralysis to move. His body flamed and bit harshly in places he couldn't reach. Flaming pain licked its way over his sides and legs. He applied more pressure to the back of his leg. His calf muscles hurt the most and if he could use the pain, he'd wake up.

Over the burning feeling of his body, he could feel something cool and wet run over his face. His hand wanted to reach to grab the object touching him but he still couldn't move it.

Taking a deep breath, he put as much weight as he could on the sorest part of his leg. The pain jolted him and his arm finally moved. John's eyes snapped open.

Blinking, he stared at the face of a surprised older woman. The black cloth in her hand dripping water. "Good morning." she said, a Scottish accent kicking at the back of her teeth. John relaxed, looking around.

"Where am I?" he asked quickly taking in the room. They were in a bedroom, probably the guest room seeing as there were no personal touches to the furniture or walls. The woman smiled warmly at him gently prying his fingers from her wrist before rubbing it.

John stared at her pale wrist. "Sorry."

She smiled. "It's fine."

John tried to sit up. Jabs of pain pierced through his body. He fell back just as the second shock wave of agony hit him. The woman reached over to the night stand beside him. "Here." she said. John eyed the little white pill in her hand warily. She laughed to herself. "It's aspirin."

Nodding, he took the pill and leaned his head back. "Where am I?" he said after a few swigs of water.

The old woman rung out her towel and dabbed his face. "Scotland. Benderloch to be exact." She said.

"Where are my friends?" John said. He tried to sit up again but she stopped him. He looked at her.

She didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," she began. John's body went numb. He could barely register her speaking as she continued. "We tried. My boys pulled most of your friends from the ocean after the plane went down but…" she jumped as John quickly sat up despite the pain. The nightstand rocked at the bed frame hit the wall. The bucket of water fell off the table with a loud splash.

John didn't even notice it. "What happened to them?"

"Three of them turned when we got there." she spoke in a low voice as she raised form her seat to walk to the closet. Reaching inside, she grabbed a mop and began cleaning. The silence between them was deafening. She finally finished in a soft voice. "We...stopped them from hurting anyone."

John said nothing as he stared at the nearest wall. He couldn't even imagine anyone dying. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he asked the one question he feared the most, "Who survived?"

The woman looked away. "They said their names were Molly, Philip, Sally, and Greg."

John's mouth went dry. "Sherlock is dead." the words didn't fit right in his mouth. They fell from his tongue the way a suicidal person falls off a building. The bitter taste they felt behind wrinkled his nose. Laying back down, he turned away from the woman.

Soft heeled shoes clicked against the wooden floorboards and a gentle hand found his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

John didn't have the voice to answer her. His best friend was gone. Mycroft was gone. Anthea was gone. They'd all turned into monsters. He fought back the tears burning down his throat. He curled in further on himself, his injuries be damned.

The old woman took a step away and set the mop against the wall. "I'll wake you in a few hours to stretch your legs." she said before giving him one last smile, though his back was to her, and left him to his thoughts.

(-)

A gentle hand shook John awake a few hours later. "John?" a voice said. "John, wake up." Opening his eyes slowly, the closely shaven face of Greg Lestrade shifted into view.

"Greg?" John sat up quickly. He grunted when pain hit him.

Lestrade chuckled, helping him sit up comfortably. "Easy, you gave us all a scare back there."

John's head hung. "Did you see them?" he said in a low voice.

"By the time I came to…" he sighed. "I'm sorry."

John's face blackened. "I'm getting up." he said pushing off the covers. Tossing his legs over the edge, he walked to the door (with some help from Lestrade) and into the hall. Sucking in a breathe he took the stairs one at a time. "How are the others?" he bit out.

"Scrapes and bruises." Lestrade answered, watching the steps. "They landed just above the water."

John nodded. At least the others were okay. "What exactly happened?"

Lestrade shrugged. He adjusted John's weight on his shoulder. "It all happened so quickly. I woke up on the beach a ways away. By the time I found you they were already there loading you all into the back of the truck."

They reached the final step and John sighed in relief. The house was very homely when he actually looked at it. Aging pictures of little boys hung from every wall and little trinkets stood proudly on every table. Nothing too out of the ordinary for a family. Toward the back door a little table sat next to a wide hanging rug with the families face's embodied on the front. The table held several books and a little trophy won by someone in the house probably. John peaked into the closest room. Molly sat at the table in the kitchen reading an old book next to a young fair haired man.

Her face brightened when she saw him. Lestrade helped him sit and she reached across the table taking his hands. "I'm so glad you're okay. I was just going to come check on you." She squeezed his hands. "Greg told me not to worry but I couldn't help it. After everything that's happened…" She trailed off picking up the book again and fiddling with the page. "It's just nice to see you again."

HE understood where she was coming form. They all cared about the others in one way or another. Before he could speak, the back door swung open and sally came in, all smiles. "Up already are you?" she handed the young man at the table a basket of fruit she'd been carrying.

He smiled at her. "Thanks Sally." he said. She nodded smiling back before sitting next to Molly. The young man turned to John shifting the basket out of the way and offered his hand. "Jacob." John took the hand. Jacob smiled. "You probably have some questions."

John nodded. That was an understatement.

Jacob got up and pulled a peeler from the utensil drawer as he talked. "Well, I'll explain the basics, feel free to ask a question when you have one. First things first, you're in Benderloch, Scotland. This is an orchard my parents own." John nodded along, his tunnel vision now focused on him. Jacob continued. "I live here with them and my two older brothers, Patrick and Hans."

The front door opened and a much older man with dark brown hair stepped into the room. He looked a lot like Jacob. "Where's Hans?" he asked. Jacob pointed to the back door. "Philip and Patrick are with him." he called after the man as he left.

"That's my pop. His name is Terence. Mum's name is Ablean."

"You can call me Able." came a voice form the hall. John looked at the older woman coming into the room. She was the same woman who he'd woken up to. Able patted her son's head as she passed and he smiled. Jacob began peeling an apple and tossing the peels into a pail by his feet.

Able took some of the tables from the basket and chopped them by the counter. "It's nice to see you back on your feet." she said, her back turned to them.

John nodded with a smile. "You have a lovely home." Even if his heart was breaking, he might as well be polite.

Able smiled with him. "Thank you. It's hard to keep clean." she said.

Jacob looked down at his feet. Most of the peels hadn't landed in the bucket and now were over the floor. He put them in the bucket. He turned to see her back still to them. "I'll never understand how you do that?" he said. Able laughed at him.

She turned to them and kissed her son's forehead. Her eyes landed on John. "As much as I'm glad to see you up and about, you really should rest." she said. Lestrade took the cue and helped John up.

After the long hike up the stairs, Lestrade set him into the bed. "I'll come get you for supper." he said.

John was already asleep.

(-)

John looked over the table. He'd barely eaten a thing, no matter how much he'd wanted to. He felt so out of place in the happy environment. Everyone sat around the large kitchen table passing meats and greens and fruits. It was almost as if nothing had happened in the world.

Across the table, Sally stabbed into her foot. "This is delicious."

Able grinned. "Thank you for helping me make it."

Through a mouth of potatoes, Anderson said, "Hand me the vegetables."

John stared at the scene from his place at the table. Everyone was wrapped around the table like a big happy family. Like there weren't people eating each other just outside their doors. They'd all assimilated so quickly. It reminded him of his own family dinners when he was a kid. Back when things were normal and not batshit crazy. It even reminded him of his dinners with Sherlock. He remembered the last time they'd eaten in their kitchen. He'd accidentally mistaken the congealed blood for jam and well, everything went sour form there. Dinners got even worse when Mycroft and Anthea decided to stay. He'd had to break up a fight or two before. The thought brought a sad smile to his face. He missed them.

The table quieted quickly. John looked around. He noticed the crestfallen looks over everyone's faces.

Lestrade patted his shoulder. "We miss them too."

John hung his head. He didn't know he'd said it aloud.

Lestrade looked over to Jacob. "Did you even find them? Were they alive? Did they say anything before they turned?"

Jacob looked away. "I'm sorry, we tried. They died on the beach and the ocean took them before we could do anything."

Lestrade nodded, satisfied with the information. John's brow furrowed. Hadn't Able said they'd turned before they'd gotten there? John played along. "At least they're not in pain anymore." he said. In his peripheral vision, he saw Able physically relax.

The meal continued on in silence form there. John noticed a new tension he hadn't felt before. He looked over to Lestrade to find him already staring at him. He tilted his head toward the door. John nodded pinching his leg. Pain burst through it and he grunted.

Able looked up. "Are you alright?" she asked.

John nodded. He grunted again. Lestrade sighed. "You're still in pain. You should be resting." he gingerly helped him up. "I'll take him upstairs." he said and led the other to the door.

Once upstairs, John relaxed on the bed. Lestrade looked out into the hallway for anyone before closing the door. "What's up?"

"Something's off." John said looking under the bed. His leg screamed in pain as he bent it but he ignored the pain as best he could. "I don't know what it is but something's not right."

Lestrade's hands slipped into his pockets. "What do you have?" his old detective ways slipped easily back into place. He began looked around as well.

"Did you notice at dinner?" John said. "It was really tense."

Lestrade opened the door again, looking for eavesdroppers. "We are strangers in their home."

"Okay, you're right. But it's too tense. I got really tense when you started asking questions and the stories don't add up."

Lestrade sat on the bed and listened closely. "How?"

"When I was up here with Ablean she told me that the others had already turned into sick before they got there but Jacob said they died on the shore and washed out to sea."

Lestrade nodded. He listened again for any movement outside the door. "I believe you" he whispered. "But if they're lying, we need to find out what really happened and be quiet about it." He said.

"We need to look for clues. Find out what happened."

Lestrade nodded. "I'll see what I can find downstairs. You stay here."

John nodded closing his eyes. He didn't actually feel like sleeping but he had to make it convincing. What he wanted was answers and he wanted them now.


	14. It usually is

**Summary:** Mysteries are solved and John's being the wonderful knight in shining armor he is.

**Author's Note:** Let me begin this three part apology by saying the obvious: I'm sorry. I haven't updated in, like, forever and though i do have many excuses, that really doesn't matter. I don't know where the story is heading so i'm going to try my hardest to keep everything in order and not fall off the edge of the world again like i did. I'll try to update but with college kicking my ass, i don't know what will happen. Here's the new chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

**Note:**

*C rotation over face= search in sign language

* * *

Chapter 13: It usually is

* * *

Lestrade tried to keep his face in check. John had gone to sleep over three hours ago and left him alone with Ablean on the porch. He hadn't gotten much out of her. The woman was quiet and reserved to a fault. He sighed. He wished he'd gone on that perimeter check with Donovan and Anderson but he couldn't leave John alone. So he'd stayed behind. If Sherlock knew that he'd left John home with suspicious people, he would have killed him. Lestrade ignored the sadness welling in his chest. Sherlock would have already figured out what they were up to. Lost in his own world, Lestrade only resurfaced when he felt an overly familiar chill crawl down his spine. He looked over to find Able staring at him, a soft smile on her face. He forced himself to smile back. At one point that smile had seemed sweet, kind even. But now, it was just creepy. She smiled too often.

Gravel crunched ahead of them as Hans came up the driveway. He smiled at Lestrade. Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. The man had his mother's smile. Lestrade listened as Hans spoke Able.

"Mum," Hans said. "Patrick and I are going on a supply run. Jacob will be back with the others after the perimeter check. We should all be home in time for dinner."

Able nodded and Hans patted her hand. He smiled again at Greg.

Greg smiled back. He watched the man pass them and into the house. A few bumps later, he came back out with his backpack and gun. "Bye mum." he said before kissing his mother's cheek and disappearing down the drive.

Greg sighed in relief. Two less people to worry about now.

"Is something wrong dear?" Able said.

Greg shook his head. "Just a little tired." He wasn't lying. He was exhausted.

Able gestured to the door. "Then you should take a nap."

Lestrade shook his head. He didn't like leaving her by herself. Something about the woman put him off. "Not that kind of tired." he said.

Able nodded. "Oh," she said slowly. She looked out into the morning sky. An uncomfortable silence fell over the two. Greg sat internally screaming. To his relief, Able broke the silence first. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know how to respond." her shoulders sagged and for the first time, Greg could actually see the age on her face. She stood up from her chair, dusting imaginary dirt from her dress. "We're all tired."

Lestrade following her inside. He closed the door behind himself and turned to see John coming down the steps. Lestrade held out a hand and John stopped. Looking into the kitchen, Lestrade spotted Able cleaning off an onion, her back turned to them. Lestrade locked eyes with John and twirled his finger hoping John understood what he meant. He hadn't seen enough military movies for this. John raised an eyebrow and Lestrade cursed. He held his hand in a C formation and circled his face twice*. John gave him a thumbs up and crept back up the stairs. Lestrade rolled his eyes. Of course John knew sign language. "Let me help you with that." Lestrade said loud enough for John to hear.

Springing into action, John pulled off his shoes tucking them under his arm and started at the door at the furthest end from the stairs. Brushing it only slightly, he waited for someone inside to move. Only silence greeted him and after a second, he looked inside. It was one of the boy's bedrooms, Jacob's from the looks of it. Scanning quickly, he shut the door behind himself.

He stopped at the next door and repeated the process. Again, no one was inside. He continued down the hall, room after room. Sally and Molly's room had been clean. Molly was inside, sleep. The only reason he knew was because he'd almost fallen onto her in all his effort to be sneaky. It wasn't his best sleuthing moment. For a moment, he let himself imagine Sherlock behind him chuckling. But then that moment hurt too much and he buried the thought.

Patrick's room was clean as well. So was Hans's. John checked the rest of the rooms and then looked a second time. He couldn't understand it. Something had to be going on. They just didn't seem right to him. A big happy family in the midst of an apocalypse? Unlikely. Sherlock would have seen it coming from a mile away so what was he missing?

He moved slowly downstairs, testing each of the creaky steps before he put too much pressure on them. The last thing he needed was for Able's hawk hearing to pick up the sound. John tried to search the living room nonchalantly. At least in there, he could make an excuse as to why he was looking around. He stepped into the hallway careful not to be seen.

It was a hallway, nothing too crazy about it. A stand held a handmade bowl with a pair of car keys and few other boring objects. John looked around the back door. Terence was outside cleaning and gardening. Nothing out of the ordinary. A family hanging rug sat against the wall. It was an interesting rug to say the least. He hadn't noticed it before. The rug looked new, all the threading still strong and slick under his fingers. It was a wide rug, out of place in the small area but fitting with the decor. John turned up one of the corners.

A door sill came into view.

He lifted the entire rug. They'd hidden a door behind it. How had he missed that? Sherlock's voice flooded into his head. 'You see, but you don't observe John. Try to keep up, will you?' John chuckled softly to himself as he turned the handle. Locked. He wasn't surprised. That would have been too easy. Looking out the back door, Terence's back was to him. John rummaged around. He found a bobby pin in the handmade bowl. He picked the lock quickly and slipped into the darkness below.

o.O.O.o

Lestrade looked around the room. The smell of warm meats and vegetables clung to the walls of the kitchen. He watched his fingers as he cut through a piece of tomato. He'd nearly cut himself twice with his shaky hands. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous. He was a police officer dammit, he could handle an old lady. His mind quickly went to Miss Hudson and all her wrath. He wondered if he actually could take Able if it came to it.

"Is something wrong?" Able said. She'd been saying that a lot. "You look like you've smelled something foul."

Lestrade shook his head. "No it's nothing, just thinking about an old friend."

Able nodded, chopping through an onion. "Don't think too hard, it's not good for you. Worry lines and all."

Lestrade nodded rolling up his sleeves and grabbing another tomato from the basket.

Able looked out the kitchen door. "Is John up yet?" she said more to herself than to Lestrade.

Lestrade answered anyway. "No, i think he's still asleep."

Able hummed a reply. Her lips pursed. "Really." she chopped through an onion with a bit more force than necessary. "I thought i heard a door open upstairs."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Last i checked, he was still asleep." he could feel the tension rising in the room. "He'll come down when he's ready." Lestrade turned back to his tomato. "And when he does, we should be done cooking. What are we making by the way?"

Able smiled again. "Meatloaf." she said.

Lestrade relaxed. The tension broke and they continued quietly. Able hummed a cheerful tune as she continued to cut peppers and onions. Setting down her knife, Able reached into the cabinets. "Greg, can you hand me the basket?"

He nodded grabbing it. "Here, what-" Lestrade's voice caught in his throat as pain shot through the back of his head. He fell frowned into the basket.

Able frowned. Whipping off the scarlet liquid from the bottom of her cast iron pan, she finished off the rest of the ingredients and put the meatloaf in the oven. Able looked down at her destroyed basket. "I liked that basket." she said. Nudging Lestrade's head with the tip of her shoe, she sighed. "You're going to pay for that."

o.O.O.o

John cursed as he bumbled around in the darkness. He groped the wall searching for the light switch. His hand dipped into wetness and he yanked it back. Rubbing the liquid between his fingers, he smelled it. It smelled metallic. Cold seeped into his stomach and he stiffened for a second. Reaching out again, he found the light switch. His eyes adjusted to the blinding light and he stared at his hand.

Blood.

His hand was covered in blood.

He stepped back from the wall splattered in crimson and stared at the table in front of him. He'd only seen tables like this in slasher movies, covered in dripping scalpels and bloodied rags.

"...John…"

John froze. He turned slowly to the sound of his name. The word came pouring out before he could think of it. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled weakly. His head tipped forward, sweaty black locks falling into his pale face. "48 hours." his voice was barely a mumble. "You're getting sloppy." A soft mumbled came from behind him and Sherlock froze. "Mycroft?" He thrashed against the restraints on his wrists. "He's awake. Help him."

John didn't need to be told twice. He all but ran to Mycroft. His feet skid through a pool of blood as he finally reached the bound man. His nose was bent slightly out of place and a bright purple bruise bloomed over his left cheek. John untied him quickly and Mycroft swayed dangerously to one side. Blood trickled from his lips and onto his red stained suit pants and torn shirt.

"Mycroft, stay awake. You have a concussion." John said.

He looked over Mycroft's chest and legs finding scratches and cuts but nothing too bad. He looked over his arms and hands next. He froze staring at his left hand and gagged. "Where's your finger?" he managed to say.

Mycroft looked over the bleeding void where his left pinky had been. He tried to speak but only a few gurgling sounds and a handful of words broke through. It sounded like he was talking through a mouth of cotton. Speak impediment. Definitely a concussion. John grabbed a cloth form the table and applied pressure to Mycroft's hand. He quickly untied Sherlock and the two lifted Mycroft slowly. Sherlock's own legs shook slightly. Mycroft mumbled something and John looked up.

Sherlock grabbed his brother's arm and swung it over his shoulder. "He said Anthea. Where is she?" Through blurry vision, he followed John toward the door.

"I don't know. When did you last see her?" John said.

Mycroft's head bobbed to Sherlock's shoulder. "Finger…" he managed. "When finger…"

"He tried to stop them from taking her. He hit the father. They nearly took his whole hand." Sherlock panted. Walking was getting difficult for him.

John helped Sherlock sturdy Mycroft and the three hobbled up the stairs. Kicking open the door. John pulled them into the hallway. Terence stood in the back doorway, shock written over his face. He quickly grabbed a cultivating tool he'd been using outside and swung at John's stomach.

John dropped Mycroft's arm and grabbed Terence's. Using his weight against him, he tossed the older man over his shoulder. He tumbled down the stairs with a sickening crack and laid there, his neck bent out of place.

A scream sprang out and they all snapped over to the front of the hallway. Able screamed as she tried to run past them. Sherlock grabbed her arm pulling her back. "Where is Anthea?" he said.

Able blinked at John through teary eyes and ripped her wrist from his grip. "Ask John. He saw her at dinner last night." She ran down the stairs.

John paled. Sherlock slammed the door shut and locked it. He grabbed the both of them pulled them down the hallway. The front door opened and Jacob looked around. "What the hell is going on-" Sherlock head butted him. Jacob fell to the ground unconscious. Sherlock staggered a bit, catching himself on the wall.

Donovan came into the house first. "What the hell are you doing?" she stopped when she saw Sherlock. "Sherlock?"

Molly ran down the stepped. She froze seconds before the bottom. "Oh my god, Sherlock."

He swatted her hands away. "Medical supplies, now. Mycroft." he managed between pants. He'd been cut up pretty badly but he wasn't the one dying of blood loss. Yet.

Everyone snapped into action. Anderson walked into the house confused but quickly caught up. He ran into the kitchen clearing off the table. He looked underneath. "I found Greg." he yelled. "He's unconscious but alive."

"Way to be helpful." Sherlock yelled. He held his head. John guided the brothers into the room and started on Mycroft. Molly scrambled down the steps with the medical kit.

Sherlock pushed past Anderson who was busying himself collecting supplies. He looked over John's shoulder. "Is he alive?"

John pulled at Mycroft's sleeve and looked over the damages. It wasn't a clean cut by any means. He quickly disinfected it. Mycroft's eyes snapped open and he tried to stop him. Sherlock held down his other arm and John quickly stitched up the hand. Wrapping it, he pulled Mycroft up. "Get him to the car out front. The keys are in the bowl in the hall." he handed Mycroft off to Molly. "Lay him flat, raise his feet about 12 inches, and cover him with a coat or blanket. We can't have him going into shock."

Molly nodded and with Donovan, the two carried him out. John looked over Sherlock next. "Let me see." he said.

Sherlock tried to push him away. "Check me later, we need to go."

John caught his hands and opened what was left Sherlock's bloodied shirt. He sucked in a breath. Red welts and deep cuts covered his skin. John pushed him back. "How the hell were you still standing?" he said as he began disinfecting.

"Adrenaline and determination." Sherlock's voice was getting weaker. He grunted as John stitched up the cuts and helped him up.

Sherlock smacked Lestrade in the face. "Oi?" he smacked him again. "We're leaving. I'm not dragging you out of here." he said. Lestrade got up slowly and stared at Sherlock. He pulled him into a hug. Sherlock sighed pushing away. "Not the place Graham."

"It's Greg."

Sherlock turned on his heels. "Let's go." John had to help him out of the house. They piled outside quickly and jumped into the car parked out front. Molly looked around. "What happened to Anthea?" she said.

"She's dead." Sherlock said. Anderson was the last out carrying four bags full of food and supplies he'd managed to snag. "Good thinking." Sherlock said, resting his head against the window.

Anderson helped Lestrade and Donovan get Mycroft situated in the back. He looked over to Sherlock and then to John. "He must be really out of it."

John turned the ignition as a blood curdling scream came from inside the house. "Go." someone yelled in the back and John backed up reving the engine. They kicked up dirt as they made their getaway down the abandoned road.


End file.
